Born in Blood (The Sentinels)

by Alexandra Ivy

  He was forced to set her down so he could unlock his apartment, but he kept one arm wrapped around her, as if he thought she might bolt.

  Poor sap. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was getting rid of her.

  Hustling her inside, he closed and locked the door. Then, still keeping a tight grip on her, he led her into the kitchen-slash-dining room, pausing to toss his keys on the square Formica table.

  “Do you want me to call for lunch now or—”

  “Later,” she interrupted.

  “Later is great,” he admitted with a groan of relief, leaning down to kiss her with a frustrated hunger that had nothing to do with BBQ. “Much later would be fantastic.”

  He glanced toward the table, obviously debating the pleasure of immediate satisfaction against the comfort of a bed and a soft mattress.

  She didn’t know what tilted the balance, but one minute she was glancing at the pictures set on the china cabinet of various men and women who looked enough like Duncan to be family, and the next she was abruptly being tugged through a tidy living room with furniture that was worn but surprisingly homey, with more pictures on the wall.

  A few steps later and she found herself in a bedroom that was decorated in shades of tan and chocolate. Her brows lifted as she studied the comforter that was neatly spread across the double bed and the lack of clothes on the carpet.

  “I’m surprised,” she murmured.

  He carefully removed his holstered gun as he nuzzled a trail of kisses down her neck, the feel of his whiskers against her sensitive skin making her shiver with pleasure.

  “I warned you it’s a shithole,” he husked.

  “No, I meant . . .” She lost her train of thought as his hands skimmed beneath her top, his fingers moving like the brush of a butterfly wing over her ribs to rest just below the swell of her breasts.

  “You meant?” he prompted with a hint of amusement.

  Not about to let him have complete control, she grabbed the hem of his tee and yanked it over his head, exposing a delectable expanse of bronzed skin stretched taut over chiseled muscles.

  Oh . . . yum.

  It was like a feast for her senses.

  “It’s cleaner than I expected,” she explained, her hands lifting to explore the triangle of golden hair on his upper chest.

  He gave a low growl, his hands cupping her breasts as his hot breath seared over her ear.

  “My sisters love to do drop-by inspections,” he said in a husky voice. “If the place isn’t up to their code then I’m stuck with them until they get it cleaned to their satisfaction.”

  His words sliced through her sensual haze. She was already terrified at the thought of meeting Duncan’s family— the last thing she needed was to worry that the meeting might take place while she was naked in his bed.

  “They won’t be stopping by today, will they?”

  His thumbs found the tight peaks of her breasts, sending darts of scorching excitement through her body.

  “Not unless they want to get shot,” he muttered.

  She pulled back to stab him with a worried frown. “Duncan.”

  “They know if I’m home during the day I pulled an all-nighter and I’m in bed.” He leaned forward to kiss her with a slow, lingering thoroughness. “We won’t be disturbed.”

  Melting beneath the heat of his kiss, Callie forgot his sisters and the missing necromancer and all the reasons this was a terrible idea.

  Stolen moments might very well be all she had with this man.

  She intended to savor each and every one of them.

  Perhaps sensing her urgency, Duncan pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Her bra followed.

  She kicked off her shoes, enjoying the sheer male possession in his touch as he unsnapped her jeans and tugged them downward.

  “You’re very good at this,” she breathed.

  He dropped to his knees; his lips nuzzled across the clenched muscles of her stomach.

  “This chemistry has nothing to do with skill.” His fingers trailed up the back of her thighs, sending a rash of goose bumps over her skin. “And everything to do with fate.”

  Her pounding heart came to a perfect halt.

  Fate.

  Such a dangerous thing.

  “What do you mean?”

  Duncan pulled down her panties, a slumberous sensuality darkening his eyes as he glanced up to meet her searching gaze.

  “This is more than mere lust,” he murmured. “This is an obsession that goes way beyond explanation. What else could it be but fate?”

  She didn’t have a damn clue. It was another of those things to put on the worry-about-later list. For now her entire body was humming with an electric excitement.

  “Who am I to fight against fate?” she sighed, her fingers threading through his hair in silent encouragement.

  Something rippled over the starkly beautiful features before he leaned forward to place an openmouthed kiss on her inner thigh.

  Callie shivered, her lashes fluttering downward as his hands skimmed up the naked curve of her butt and gripped her hips to hold her in place.

  Not that she was going anywhere.

  Hell, no.

  She gave a small gasp as he turned his head to find the liquid heat between her legs. His tongue parted her, teasing her pleasure point with a tender urgency that soon had her entire body pulsing with an aching need.

  God Almighty. It was just as wondrous as she remembered. Just as mind blowing.

  Duncan had called it obsession. And perhaps that’s what it was. A hot, ruthless obsession that could easily consume her.

  She sucked in a strangled breath, her knees feeling weak as he laved her most sensitive nub of flesh with a growing insistence. Oh, yes. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her breath rasping loudly in the silent room. That was the exact, perfect spot.

  But Duncan was in the mood to tease.

  Or maybe he just enjoyed torturing her.

  Over and over, he brought her to the peak of fulfillment, only to pull away at the last second.

  Her eyes fluttered open as his mouth shifted to brand hot, restless kisses over the curve of her hip.

  “I intended to do this all afternoon,” he rasped against her skin. “But, I need to be inside you. Deep inside you.”

  Hovering on the brink of her climax, she shifted her hands to grasp his shoulders and urge him upward.

  “Then do it,” she commanded in a thick voice.

  He chuckled as he straightened, lowering his head to stroke his tongue down the length of her neck. He nuzzled her pounding pulse before his head was dipping even lower and his lips covered the tip of her throbbing nipple.

  Callie moaned at the dizzying sensations. Should she be worried that this man had the ability to make her melt with vulnerable longing?

  Especially when they might soon be parted?

  The brief moment of uncertainty was forgotten as he used his teeth to pleasure her nipple with a tender urgency that was tightening her muscles and making her legs weak. A low growl rumbled in his throat as his hands skated down her heated skin and grasped her hips. Then, without warning, he was turning her around and urging her toward the wall.

  Caught off guard, she swiveled her head to regard him over her shoulder. “Duncan?”

  The lean features were tight and bathed with a damp perspiration, as if he were struggling against a mighty force.

  “Trust me,” he husked as he wrenched off his jeans and underwear. Then, he pressed his body to her back and buried his face in the curve of her neck. “I promise you’ll like this.”

  “But . . .”

  Her words came to a choked halt as his fingers slid down the gentle swell of her stomach and then through the dampness between her legs.

  “I’ve spent a hundred nights tossing and turning on that bed, imagining what I would do with you if I ever managed to lure you here.” He gave a punishing nip on the curve of her shoulder while his finger slid inside her and began to stro
ke with a slow insistence. “This was number one.”

  Her head fell back against his shoulder. A delicious pressure was beginning to build within her. Later she would tell him a few of her own fantasies.

  But that would be later, she conceded as she felt his hard cock pressing between her legs. With gentle care he removed his finger and then with one slow thrust he was buried deep inside her.

  Returning to Valhalla, Fane entered his apartment for a quick shower and a change of clothing. Not that anyone could tell the difference. His wardrobe consisted of cammos, khakis, T-shirts, and shit-kickers.

  The hunter Sentinels liked to prance around in expensive clothes and drive cars that made a real man wonder if they were compensating for something. But guardians ... they knew what was important.

  And it couldn’t be bought in a store.

  Making a brief stop by the morgue, he eventually made his way to the Mave’s office to update her on the medics’ examination of Leah’s body. Then, stepping into the hall, he was debating whether to catch a quick lunch in the public dining room or to return to his apartment when a prickle of power raced over his skin.

  Slowly turning, he already knew it was his Tagos approaching. Wolfe carried with him an electrical energy that was like a punch in the gut.

  The tall man with a hawkish profile was dressed from head to toe in black. His dark hair was left free to flow down to his shoulders with the white streak next to his hard face shimmering in the sunlight that poured through the overhead skylight.

  Wolfe halted a few feet away. They were both predators in their own way. Space was a necessity.

  “Did the medics find anything?” the Tagos demanded.

  He nodded. “The body was deteriorating at a normal rate.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The magic that animated her only offered the pretense of life.”

  Wolfe grimaced. “Truly a walking corpse.”

  “Yes.”

  “Christ.” They exchanged a hard glance that spoke of their mutual resolve to put an end to the necromancer’s gruesome magic. That’s what Sentinels did. Solved problems. “Where are you off to next?”

  “Florida.”

  “What’s in Florida?”

  “A monk who can hopefully give me information on ancient Sumerians.”

  Wolfe didn’t probe. The connection between monks and guardians was a sacred trust that was never discussed outside the monastery.

  “I heard you returned without Callie.”

  Fane clenched his hands. It had gone against every protective instinct he possessed to leave her behind. But he wasn’t a fool. Callie was a grown woman who was going to do what she wanted to do.

  Trying to stop her would only have made her dig in her heels.

  Women.

  “She insisted on remaining with the cop,” he admitted in sour tones.

  “Insisted?” Wolfe arched a brow. “That doesn’t sound like Callie.”

  “She’s infatuated with the bastard.”

  Wolfe studied him with a steady gaze that held curiosity without judgment. “Does that trouble you?”

  “Only because I can’t be sure her emotions aren’t clouding her mind,” he said. Callie would always hold a place in his heart. She was his to protect. But she wasn’t the woman who stirred his passions to a raging fire. “Right now I think she’d risk any danger to be with him.”

  “I feel your pain, comrade.” The dark gaze briefly flicked toward the closed door of the Mave’s office. An instinctive action that Fane doubted the Tagos was even aware of. “Females can be unreasonable under the best circumstances.”

  Fane shrugged. “I have to trust O’Conner will protect her.”

  “Is he capable?”

  “Not as capable as I am, but he has more skills than he realizes.”

  Wolfe was instantly intrigued. “A potential Sentinel?”

  Fane smiled without humor. He’d recognized Duncan O’Conner’s hidden talents the minute their paths had crossed. Not only his ability to read souls, but his superior strength. It was the only reason he’d allowed Callie to remain in his care.

  Otherwise he’d have her locked in the dungeons so she couldn’t sneak off the minute his back was turned.

  “If I don’t kill him first,” he muttered.

  Wolfe smiled in understanding, then both men froze as the smell of expensive leather and dangerous woman wafted through the air. Seconds later Serra rounded the corner, her stunning beauty a perilous weapon.

  “Ah” Wolfe cleared his throat, careful to avert his gaze from Serra’s lush body shown to perfection in the skintight leather pants and lacy bustier. “She looks like a woman on a mission. I think I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

  “Traitor,” Fane muttered, composing his expression to hide the familiar sense of frustration and raw, aching desire.

  This woman was his greatest temptation.

  And the promise of his doom.

  Chapter Twenty

  Duncan eventually called for the BBQ. He even allowed Callie to get dressed so they could eat like a civilized couple in the dining room with real forks and plates.

  See ... he wasn’t a complete barbarian.

  And astonishingly, he found amazing pleasure in sitting at the table arguing about music and movies and whether ice cream should be chocolate or vanilla while he fed her the finest brisket in the world.

  This wasn’t about heat and lust and fireworks.

  Instead it was fun and peaceful and so damned . . . right . . . that a part of him knew he should be terrified.

  Snatching the last square of corn bread, he was busy buttering it when the ring of his phone broke the easy atmosphere.

  Automatically he reached to answer it, then his gaze was snared by the faceted sapphire blue of her eyes and he deliberately returned to buttering the corn bread.

  The ringing stopped. For all of two seconds.

  “Ignore it,” he muttered as it started again. And again.

  She reached to snatch the bread from his hand, a teasing grin tugging at her lips.

  “I can if you can.”

  His libido stirred as she took a bite, the butter shimmering on her lower lip. He should turn off the phone and haul her back to bed.

  Or even sweep aside the dishes and indulge in his fantasy of eating dessert off that pale, satin skin.

  The delectable image began to form in his mind.

  Callie’s naked body stretched across the table. Her crimson hair shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he ...

  His phone once again intruded.

  “Dammit.” Huffing out a resigned sigh, he reached to pluck the phone off the table. He was a Grade A idiot. It was no wonder Susan dumped his ass. “I’m sorry.”

  Before he could answer, Callie reached to lightly touch his hand. “Duncan.”

  He grimaced, bracing for the familiar lecture. “Yes?”

  “Don’t ever apologize for being good at your job.”

  Okay. That was the last thing he expected.

  He studied her pale face, which revealed a calm acceptance that he was fairly certain he didn’t deserve.

  “I think I’m apologizing for letting it consume me,” he muttered. “Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

  “By who?”

  He shrugged. “My ex-wife, my mother, my sisters, the old lady next door—”

  She held up a hand. “Yeah, I get it. They’re worried about you. But that doesn’t make your love for your job wrong.”

  He reached to grasp her fingers, searching the depths of her stunning eyes for the truth.

  Could she actually understand?

  “I don’t want you to feel as if I’m putting you in second place.”

  “I don’t” She leaned across the table to brush a light kiss over his mouth. “Of course, there’s a difference between being obsessed with your career and using it as a barrier to keep people at a distance.”

  She di
d understand.

  All too well.

  “How did you know?” he demanded, grudgingly recalling the dates he’d broken because it was easier to stay at the station than spend a few empty hours trying to act interested. Or the Sunday family dinners he’d skipped because he didn’t want to be the target of his meddling sisters’ attempts to set him up with their endless parade of friends.

  “Because I’ve used my fear of being rejected to do the same thing.”

  He smiled with rueful amusement. “So what you’re saying is that we’re a match made in heaven?”

  “Or we’re both so screwed up no one else could stand us.”

  He chuckled, pressing her fingers to his lips. “I’ll go with that.”

  On cue, the phone started its insistent ringing. Callie smiled, giving his arm a squeeze.

  “Answer,” she commanded softly. “It might be important.”

  He pressed the phone to his ear, knowing she was right. This wasn’t about burrowing himself in work so he could ignore the barrenness of his life. There was a crazed necromancer out there who had to be stopped.

  “O’Conner,” he growled, his brows lowering as he listened to the crisp voice of his chief. “Where? I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  He ended the connection and met Callie’s curious gaze.

  “Who was it?” she demanded.

  “The chief.” He absently gathered the dirty plates and took them into the kitchen. “She said that a man appeared at the station claiming that he was the rightful owner of Calso’s coin.”

  He hadn’t realized Callie had followed him into the kitchen until she spoke directly behind him.

  “Where are you supposed to meet him?”

  He turned, frowning down at her expectant expression. “Callie, it’s too dangerous—”

  She reached up to pinch his lips together, effectively halting his protest.

  “Don’t go there,” she warned. “We’re in this together.”

  He nipped the tips of her fingers before pulling them from his mouth.

  “Stubborn.”

  The aggravating female smiled, knowing she’d won. “Determined.”